


Wayward

by evil_bunny_king



Series: Wolfhounds [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Shenanigans, overly large hounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet moment from the laze of summer, to warm you all this Halloween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward

She buried her hands in the dog’s wiry fur. It was soothing, somehow, scratching her fingertips through his mane, teasing at the tangles. When rolled onto his back, supine in the aftermath of a stretch, the hound was a glorious mess. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, flicking as he panted. She grinned, working her hands down the barrel of his ribcage.

The fearsome scourge of the Yorkshire moors, reduced in increments to a puddle of fur and too long limbs.

He was a very large dog. Irish Wolfhound, as her mother had informed her - on one of those early April mornings that’d followed her final tour.

“You should’ve seen it two years ago! It was still a wee thing back then – barely larger than one of those sausage dogs, oversized paws and all. Couldn’t believe how fast it grew.”

She’d let the warm lick of her mother’s stubborn welsh accent wash over her as they’d gazed at the fenced garden the hall window overlooked, only just remembering to hum along in interest. Familiarity. Home. She’d been mired in the desert too long.

“The old neighbours moved away, you know.” The dog had launched itself across the yard, then – after a squirrel, probably; they’d watched him go. “Shortly after you headed out that last time. Something about their son moving to Canada, I think. Not really sure.”

“Mmm?”

“Yes – something about a- something. Well. In any case, the new fellow is very polite. ‘Solas’ - an artist, living all by himself except for that pup of his. Shy, too, from the looks of things - he barely seems to leave the house, or have anyone over. It’s a little worrying, actually. Don’t you think?” 

Her mother had never been able to just let a silence sit. The habit had only grown more pronounced over her last tour. Abora wasn’t the only one who’d been marooned for too long.

There were different kinds of silence, though. Different kinds of quiet.

She sat in the sunshine. It was August. Her hands ran though the dog’s fur, scratching, tickling, as a bare breeze flicked at the cropped hair at the back of her neck.

Solas was sat beside her. His legs comfortably splayed, a smile playing across his lips, he relaxed against the trunk of a young oak, his sketchpad open but all but forgotten.

He sat, and as she wrestled with his dog, he watched the two of them. Watched her, when he thought she wasn’t looking, following her hands, the lines of her profile, bright eyes half-mast, a piece of charcoal rolling lazily between his fingers.

The trees of the yard murmured around them. Rustling, dully, as robins chirped in the distance, diving between the houses.

There was a comfortable sort of quiet here. Lulled by the weight in the air. The heat of the sun.

The warmth of it lingered long after the shadows dredged themselves beneath the trees. Long after the great hound had heaved itself to its feet and its wayward humans were chased inside once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Verse-establishing drabble for a longer thing I've had in the works for a while. I'm such a slow writer...


End file.
